So We Shall Fall
by wjjmwmsn5
Summary: "Someday, we're all going to fall. We're going to fall and drown as they rain pours down in buckets. We may try to heal, but we're just not able to. We're going to fall and no matter what, I'll end up falling with everyone else." Katniss and Cato know they're forbidden to hate, but do they know that in the end they'll always fall? Forbidden to Hate's sequel. I don't own the cover.
1. Chapter 1: The Mines

**A/N: OMG, THE FICUEL! **

**Anyway… So, it's in Katniss's POV. You'll learn why there's no Cato POV in the story.**

**Also, I'd like to apologize for any potential gag-provoking somewhat-Everthorne-like scenes. But Gale and Katniss are gonna have their stupid little flings with each other whether I like it or not, so we can all gag together at the stupid potential Everthorne scenes.**

***shakes head***** Everlens is so where it's at. (Everdeen-Allens, as in, my version of Catoniss.)**

It's been a week since I've been home. I've received one million congratulations calls, one call on Cato's report about his coma, and seen Gale…not once. I arrived on the train, prim and proper and perfect, dressed up, smiling, waving, and happier than ever. He'd been at the train station with most of the population of District Twelve. He waved, smiled, and mouthed, "Welcome home." But I haven't seen him since.

Today I finally get to. We're meeting at our spot in the woods, and I'm more excited than ever. Gale… I miss him so much! I haven't seen him in a month, but it feels like decades, centuries, ages away from him. But at last we'll meet each other again. He'll be sitting on that rock we meet at on the tick of noon, eating some blackberries, raving about the Capitol. We'll hug, we'll hunt, and it'll be just like the reaping day should've been: no interruptions, no one taken away, no one reaped that we know…

I look down at Prim as she eats her breakfast. "Slow down, little duck," I tell her, smiling.

"I can't. We're going down to the mines today, and I'm almost late." She shovels down more cereal. I feel a shiver creep up my spine; I had always hated that day. I guess that it's good I no longer have to ever go down into the mines again. "What're you so smiley about?" Prim asks. "My big sister is always so grumpy in the morning…"

I roll my eyes. "Oh, nothing. Gale and I are going hunting today, that's all."

"Ah," Prim says. "You know, Gale gave us almost all of his game to us while you were…away. You should hunt for him."

"My plan exactly."

She nods. "He was really scared there for a while, the whole time Cato was with you. I kept telling him he was really in love with you and he wouldn't hurt you, but all Gale ever said about him was bad stuff, like he was gonna trick you and kill you or hurt you in the least."

"Cato's good, when you whittle away his Career side. Until then, he's not someone you want to be around," I say. Prim nods knowingly. "I think his…two near-death situations and his actual death got him good. He'll be different when he wakes up from the coma. I won't be surprised if they kick him out of the district."

Prim smiles at my bad joke. "Uh-huh. Maybe we'll come here and he and Gale and you can all be the best of buds, hunting every day and twice on Sundays."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Don't you have school?" I ask.

She giggles and puts her bowl up, and then marches out the door.

She's grown up too much. I can tell, just from the way she speaks to me. She's wiser and she's seen more…like her sister in the Games and the sight of her name reaped. Like several miners dead. Like her own father dead. Like her mother in an endless void of emptiness. I hate it, but there's no taking anything back, and I wouldn't take back volunteering for my little sister for anything. For my life, for Cato's life, for my mother's…for Gale's.

I go back to my room, lying on my bed. The restlessness I've felt for the many Parcel Days and a banquet and so many meetings with Capitol people… Finally I can go to sleep.

When I wake up, I see it's time to go or I won't be able to make it to mine and Gale's meeting. I slip on my father's mining jacket that I brought over here from my real home in the Seam for today and look around for my hunting boots. When I find them covered in Buttercup's feces, I swear at the cat, but then resort to killing the little thing later on. I slip the boots on—they're clean on the inside—and then am about to run out the door when I hear my mother's voice.

"Katniss?"

"I'm going to see Gale," I tell her, turning around. Our relationship is slowly healing. I've begun to let her help me and do things for me. But my words are still holding that very strong air of "Your opinion is not needed here."

"Okay. So…you won't be back until five, maybe?" she asks.

I nod, and then open the door, slip out, and shut it quietly behind me.

The Victors' Village has two residents: my family, and Haymitch. My neighbor, Haymitch Abernathy. What fun that is when he's on a drunken rampage, like last Wednesday. Scared the hell out of Prim and Buttercup.

I head towards the Seam, pretending like I've just bartered with Haymitch with some squirrels for coins, and now I'm heading back to the Seam, and then into the woods. The trip to the Meadow is much longer, but I make it, slipping under the fence in the same little spot I always do, and then jogging into the forest's protection.

In the woods, instead of heading in the direction of our normal spot, I follow a trail of poorly-made arrowheads, the work of a bored Gale Hawthorne from the days when we got done hunting early and just wanted to hang out. I smile and jog along his path, swinging by the logs that hold my bow and my sheath of arrows as I go along. We've never gone this specific way, because there was no good hunting or many good plants.

Eventually I reach a clearing, and it's…beautiful. Wildflowers cover the area, engulfing the field in color and brightness. I search all around for Gale, and, finding no Seam boy, sit down in the flowers, letting the sun fall down on me.

"Surprised?" I hear a familiar voice say.

I turn around. He has the same hair, eyes, and skin tone as me. He has those smoky gray eyes that could set an ocean on fire. That black hair that is never quite perfect on Sundays, because he doesn't have to comb it for me, or for anyone, really. He does it to please Hazelle, his mother. Gale.

"Gale," I breathe, standing up. He walks to me and pulls me into an embrace. "God, I missed you."

He pulls away from me, a grin on his face. "Did you, now? Let's not talk about the arena though. Nothing…about the arena. It's just like old times."

"It is, though." I pause. "Skippin' school?"

His smile turns into an emotionless look. "Graduated while you were gone."

There's a long silence.

"What?" I ask. I know something's wrong. Gale and I can read each other like no other person can read another. We're inseparable in that way, even if we're not in love and literally inseparable. Our friendship is invincible in all ways. I don't think anything could make it break down and fall—or at least nothing could make it permanently broken and torn, hashed and cut apart, like the bodies from the arena…

"Huh?"

"Something's wrong."

He's very blunt about it. "I don't like that you and Cato became…friends."

"He's not exactly someone I want to see again, Gale. Besides, he's okay, once he dies once and almost dies twice."

Gale rolls his eyes at my words and takes an arrow from my sheath. He grabs his bow from over his shoulder and shoots a bird. It lands near us. I take out the arrow and toss him the dead animal. He puts it in his bag and picks up his own arrows. I smile and load a fresh arrow to my bowstring, looking for prey. I hear a false step behind me—definitely not Gale's footsteps that are silent when the leaves are at their crunchiest, spread all over the ground—and flip around. Gale does the same.

We move with each other. He does our hand signal for 'deer, on one,' meaning there's a deer, shoot on one. That signal usually comes near a keen-eyed deer or an antsy one. The minute I see his finger go up in my peripheral vision, I let my arrow fly, as it was already aimed for the deer's eye. His arrow is seconds off so as to avoid hitting mine. His hits the heart and my arrow hit the eye, as planned.

We've rarely ever gotten a deer before. This one kicks around a little, and then it crashes, dead.

"Thank me," Gale says softly. If we're hunting, we can't talk loud if we have anything to say at all.

I shake my head. "No. Me."

We silently walk over to the dead deer. Gale skins it and guts it as I hunt for rabbits or squirrels. It's just like we'd known before: bad hunting ground. Except, now it's also the place where we got one of the one or two deer we've managed in our lifetimes hunting together. As I finally give up, Gale calls for me. I hurry over to him and he pats the seat next to his on the flower-covered earth.

"This ought to be enough meat. We should take a break. It's been a while," Gale says as he continues to gut the animal. Then he starts to cut it apart by its limbs.

"What're you doing?" I say pointedly. "Don't do that!"

Gale lifts his eyes, raising his eyebrows. "I almost got caught, you know. I was taking a rabbit outside of the bag and some new, big-shot Peacekeeper almost saw me. I hid behind old Cray's house and he caught me pantin' in the window. I rose up the rabbit and he bought the whole thing for a bottle of liquor that I gave to Ripper. Gave me shoestring.

"Anyway, we can't just lug a deer 'round the district. We've got to cut it up, put it in the bag. Come bag for what's left of what couldn't fit another time." Gale shakes his head.

"I knew I should've brought my bag," I say. "I was in a rush."

"Like you always are," Gale says.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap.

"Nothing."

"Really, Gale."

"Nothing."

I sigh and then we decide to head back. On the way home, it's silent at first, but then we start joking and talking. We bump into each other purposely and shoot at our target practice tree. Gale yanks out the arrows in the tree when we're done and divides them between us. I get four. He gets three. Then we start off again, laughing not a second after we've started moving again. Like it's the day after the reaping, just after school, as we're hunting for our supper.

"You're keeping it all, right?" I say to him. "I don't need any."

Suddenly Gale's smiling face—a rare sight to see, one that can only be seen around me and sometimes his family, just like it is with me, as I only smile with him and sometimes my family—turns to a scowl. "I don't need handouts, Catnip," he says hardly. His voice is crackly and icy.

"I know." I furrow my brow. "I have more money than what I know what to do with. You can have the deer and the stupid bird."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just not used to this—leaving without splittin' it all, you know."

"I know."

"You remember how I had something to say in the Justice Building, but we ran out of time?" Gale asks. We deposit our weapons.

"Vaguely. It seems decades ago, Gale." I shrug absently, thinking about the Peacekeepers yanking Gale out of the building as he struggled to get back to me to take me into the woods and keep me safe forever.

"I wanted to tell you—"

We reach the fence, and outside it is my mother, her face pale.

"Mom?" I ask. Seeing no one's around, I slip out of the fence, and Gale follows from close behind. Terror lies in my mother's eyes, making me very concerned. What could have gone wrong? Is Cato dead? Am I in trouble? Did Haymitch do something stupid? Did something happen to Cinna, maybe?

"The mines," she breathes.

I stare at her, confused. "No one's in there… Mom, Dad's not in there… How could…why are you— Oh, my God. Prim."

The last word comes out as a croak. It's her day to take a fieldtrip into the mines.

How could they be so stupid as to take a bunch of kids into a damn mine against their will?

And then I faint.

…

When I wake up, I'm at the mines. Many kids are being stirred from the mine's depths and sent to their worrying families, but no blond-haired, pigtailed, blue-eyed little girl comes running into my arms. No one that comes out is burnt yet and it looks still close to noon, so I know I haven't been out long. Which is good. My Primrose is being fished onto the next elevator and will run straight into my arms, sobbing.

"You awake?" I hear Gale say. His voice is cracking, too.

_Rory._

"Uh-huh." My voice is small and uneven, rising and lowering, becoming very quiet at the end, all in one simple word.

My little sister, Gale's little brother… We've already lost our fathers in the damn mines, and they can't taking away our little siblings who we've cared for all these long years. They _can't _take Prim away. I've already volunteered for the Hunger Games for her, but I can't just call out two words and save her from this. My heart aches to see her, so badly I just want to go down myself and find her.

"They're gonna come up," Gale tells me, sitting down in the grass next to me. He slides his arm around my shoulder. "Not gonna be like our dads."

"You hope."

"I know."

I sigh.

But suddenly, standing next to each other, a small Seam boy—an exact replicate of Gale—and a pigtailed, blond-haired, blue-eyed girl come stepping out of the mines, a little burnt but not too badly.

And two Seam people go running after them, hugging them and holding the sobbing girl and patting the back of the scared-looking boy.

But it's not Rory.

And it's not Prim.

**A/N: Oh, how I'm evil. Killing off Prim in the first chapter. BWAHAHAHAHAHA!**


	2. Chapter 2: Coming To

The girl and the boy are both siblings. I think I recognize them. Lily and Mark Rodriguez. They hug the two older kids and then run to their parents' arms. They're picked up and carried off, their twelve-year-old eyes spewing tears into their parents' shirts. A stone-cold face places itself on me as I watch them walking away, a full, unbroken family.

I need my Prim here, right now; I need her to run up to me and tell me she's fine. I need to be able to hold her and comfort her and keep her safe back in the Victors' Village house over supper, her sitting in my lap like she did whenever she was sick when she was little. I need her here with me, because without my Prim, I could lose it.

I feel myself starting to drift away, but not into sleep. My eyes dart from left to right as I try to find Prim. I can't stop looking over my shoulder. I'm shaking like I'm an earthquake alone. My heart aches for my little sweet sister, and she's all I think about. I have to find her. I have to protect her, always. I have to help her. Save her.

I get up. Gale tries to stop me, because we think the same way. He knows I'm going to try to go down there and find her, because he wants to do the same, badly. Both of us would kill to have our siblings come out of there safe and sound, and if we have to sacrifice ourselves, we'll do it. But Gale has more common sense than I do, and he knows we need to wait just a little longer.

But I can't, because if I wait any longer, I will go insane. Or more inane than I already am. I can't afford that. Not when I have a years of mentoring and painfulness of the Capitol's cruelty ahead of me. I have to stay strong, but if I lose my little Prim, I will become just like Annie Cresta, or maybe a morphling addict. Maybe I'll succumb to the darkness of being a drunkard like Haymitch. Then District Twelve will never have a chance again, with two Haymitchs in the world.

I make it to the edge if the mines, ready to slip under he rope and make it down the elevator shaft to Prim. But then he guards block me and Gale places a stern hand on my shoulder that warns me to not take one step further. Gale doesn't give me looks, touches, or words stern as this, though I've seen his blank, emotionless face do it to some people before. He takes a step back and I follow.

"No." His voice is hard.

Suddenly another mine explosion melts my thoughts, just for a moment.

_"Dad!" I scream as the last puff of smoke tumbles out with burnt miners no loner it its way. A man who, while burnt, looks so much like my father stumbles towards me. His smile is warm and strong as his arms stretch out for a hug. But his eyes look right past me as he limps to the outstretched arms of a worried wife. Not Dad. I try not to cry, for Prim. _

"She's not coming out," I whisper hoarsely, "just like Father didn't. She's dead, Gale."

A little boy tumbles out of the elevator, spots us, and runs as fast as his twelve-and-almost-thirteen-year-old legs will carry him. His face is solemn but relieved. As he and Gale hug, I smile, waiting for Prim to come tripping over the mere dirt and stumble into my arms like a drunk girl. But no Prim comes.

"Where's Prim, Rory?" Gale asks.

"She wasn't in my tour group," he says, sniffling. "She was the last one of the first group...which means she was one of the farthest in."

Now I'm frantic, running as fast as I can, sliding under the rope, just _waiting_ to get into the elevator before me as the last of the injured from that trip up piles out. One, two, three, go!

But someone grabs me, giant's hands placed tight around my ribcage. A man begins to start to shove me, hard, placing me roughly outside of the rope, yelling things, like that I can't go down there, and people are trying to get up, along with his own choice words, and then he just mumbles obscenities, pushing me, shoving me, getting me away. I look back and see it's a new Peacekeeper organizing this. I purse my lips and hold my ground as I hear Gale come from behind to tell him to stop pushing and let me go down.

"_You_ let _me_ do my work, kids!" he spits. I glare at him, but he just looks away and counts how many people have gotten in or out yet. Then he looks back up, sees we're here still, and starts to walk slowly over.

"Whattaya doin'?!" Haymitch. I turn around and see him holding a bottle of beer, sloshing it around. "Let her go. Let her go in!" My mentor laughs hysterically as his bottle of liquor sloshes behind him like a slug's slime trail. I watch him eye the man before me critically, his teeth barred. He's drunk as ever, and everyone can tell.

"You let her go in, I kill you. You ever touch her again, I kill you."

Haymitch would never say something like this if he caught the scene while sober. He'd make some publicity thing up. Actually, he doesn't have to make it up; I have the Victory Tour soon, and my prep team will drive me insane with their worry that I chipped a nail, so no physical harm can be done until after then. None serious, anyway.

"Sir—"

"That's Katniss Everdeen—don't you recognize her?"

"Vaguely. The circumstances recently have prevented me from watch the Games for the past two years." The Peacekeeper pauses, his face and voice blank, devoid of fear, rage, or any emotion. "Sir, remove these two from the premises or I'll be forced to take the boy in."

"Why not me, too?" I blurt out. "He tried to keep me back, after all."

"Katniss." I look at Gale's face as he stares on at the man rebelliously, not daring to look away. He's the ficklest person I know, Gale is, but he's my best friend, and every little flaw and everything about him has kept me alive since the day we met, so I can't ever complain, truly, and neither can he. We owe each other, but it's never like that—we never think of it like that. "You need sleep. Your mom and my mom and Rory can wait for Prim while you and I go away, okay?"

He flicks a look at me that could easily be misconstrued as him looking to me for confirmation, but I know by his look that we're going into the woods. For what purpose I'm not sure. I would think Gale would want to stay here and fight for the right to stay and wait for Prim with me. I can't think of a reason why he wouldn't want to, unless…

No, that's not a possibility, is it?

The man snarls, and Gale leads me back to the Victors' Village. I don't know why, but I continue to follow him, because he usually has good ideas. Once we're inside the house that belongs to me, Gale turns and looks at me, studies me. Then he tells me it's time we go someplace, and by that he means the woods, but it's certain that my house is bugged, so he doesn't say the woods specifically.

The phone next to me rings. I look over and see the phone number. It looks like Cinna's house phone number, so I hold up a finger to Gale and answer it.

"It's Cinna, Gale. I'll meet you there," I tell Gale as Cinna greets me.

"Hi," I say back.

He doesn't say a word about Prim, and I love this man over the phone for it. But he does say something about Cato.

"Cato's awake," he tells me. "I was there when he woke up. He woke up out of nowhere, sat up, and said, 'Katniss.' He wanted to talk to you after the situation was explained to him. I think they're going to him you in a minute. If they do, just hang up—I'll know."

I'm about to say something when the phone beeps.

"It's them. Bye…Cinna."

"Girl on fire," he says dismissively and then hangs up.

The nurse on the other line says, "Katniss Everdeen?"

"Here," I say.

"Cato is coming to District Twelve tomorrow."

I fiddle around with the phone until I hit speaker.

"Say that again?" I request, dumbfounded, so Gale can hear.

"Cato Allens," the nurse says slowly, "is—coming to—District Twelve—_tomorrow._"

Gale's face hardens with tight fiery hatred and anger. "I'll kill him."

And the worst part is, I actually believe he will.

**A/N: Better?**


	3. Chapter 3: Falling?

**A/N: So, I was going to make you wait a chapter for our main man's return, but my best friend Cato came up to me and sternly told me to put him in the next chapter, and he said he'd take off his shirt next chapter if I did that, so… Hey, what can you do? It's Cato—shirtless! I melted like butter…**

**Remind me to _never_ write a Finnick and Annie story, people…**

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

**Gale and I sit in the Victors' Village house in silence, staring at each other, for at least twenty minutes. Then everything comes flooding back to me—that I'm going to see Cato today, that Prim…might not be coming back, that my world is slowly cracking into a million pieces. But I haven't given up on Prim. If I had, I'd be floating in a pool of numbness and sadness.**

The doorbell rings. I groan quietly, knowing this is probably Cato, delivered just as tall, blonde, and _Cato_ as always, just as promised by the lady on the phone yesterday.

Mother says she'll get it, and Gale glares at the floor. He's here to take Cato outside and threaten him in person, which I promised my half-spacey, half-as-okay-as-she-can-be mother yesterday I would prevent when she found out the news.

Before I went to the mines and stared at the hole as more kids were drawn out, unconscious and badly-damaged.

Before I slept there.

Before I swear I heard my sister's little voice calling for me in the mineshaft, but I wasn't allowed to go down, and no one would go down _for_ her.

They said it was done.

They'd have two more trips up today.

But then everyone left in there was as good as dust.

Mother calls from the living room for me, and I sigh. Gale nods, still looking at the ground, angry. He raises himself out of his chair with me so as soon as my visitor spots me, he'll spot me with Gale. Gale is taking this way too far, but I won't let him go through with his ridiculous plans.

I'd rather be anywhere but here.

My mind keeps floating back to _her_, wishing I could receive the phone call where the man up at the mines says, "It's Primrose Everdeen. We found Primrose Everdeen alive."

Because Prim _does not_ die. Not under my watch, and I've proved that by volunteering for her, for risking the woods for her. I will, have, and would do anything for that sweet, sweet, _alive_ girl, the nearly-thirteen-year-old whose blouse is always forming a ducktail in the back, her blue eyes knowingly boring into the good parts of almost all souls.

That little girl, my little duck, my _Prim_, my bright pink, living flower in the middle of a field of gray deadness—she's alive.

Without her, my brain would shut down, as it slowly is now for every second I don't have proof that she _is_ totally, completely, absolutely alive. Even if she's badly-harmed, even if she's burdened with wounds forever, as long as she doesn't die, I'll be happy. I'll be happier than all the money in the world that the Capitol has to offer me, all the kindness and love Cato wants to give me, all the protection and friendship that Gale willingly beholds for me—I'll be happier than all of those things can make me.

Because it's rather obvious that I value Prim's life over my own.

"Katniss." Fingers snap in front of my face. Pale hands with no scars and perfectly-round nails. "Katniss?"

I look up. His somewhat tan, rather pale (you can expect a person to be pale after a coma, right?) face holds his icy blue, soul-cutting, life-taking, heartless yet _not_ eyes, those same eyes I felt myself drowning in just weeks before. I remember those eyes' owner's arms, wrapped tightly around me as I mourned the loss of an ally so much like Prim.

Now, I find myself wanting to be out in the woods with _Gale's_ strong, protecting, capable arms wrapped around me, taking me away from the world as I sob for my sister's disappearance, every second sending an inch of hope away until the amount of hopelessness overrules the amount of hopefulness, and I'm left drowning, wishing I wasn't swimming in Cato's eyes, so unlike Prim's kind, gentle, soft blue eyes, almost exact replicas of _Peeta's_ eyes…

"Cato," I say coldly.

He nods, as if confirming that that's his name. If he weren't in someone else's home, before someone else's mother and someone else's—well, he doesn't know _what_ Gale is to me—_friend_, I could just hear him saying in his frustrating, hotheaded way of his, "That's my name, girl on fire. And you?"

No one welcomes him into the home, not even when the nosy Peacekeeper scoots away and out past the Victors' Village, back into town.

"So, how long are you staying?" I say quietly, drifting back into space, thinking about Prim.

Seeing images of her body exploding with the mines, being ripped and bloodied, her bones cracked and contorted, her scream piercing the air, unheard because of the sounds around her, too deep in the mines to get a break.

Seeing images of Cato and Clove torturing Peeta and bloodying him and the way he said my name right before they killed him, the way I ignored it in my selfish anger.

Seeing images of Rue getting snagged with that knife, causing her to lose balance and fall down, down, down, _down_ to the ground and landing with the most sickening thump I have ever heard.

Seeing images of my father singing in the mines, fire raging towards him from behind, without him knowing, until his body is ripped from existence like Prim's was.

Seeing images of Cato, weak and helpless, infected, eyes bloodshot, face ghostly white. Images of him falling so desperately like Rue did.

Finally, when I'm out of the horrors of my mind and back into the real world—which isn't much better—I realize I'm in my bedroom, sobbing, Cato at the foot of my bed and Gale scowling in the corner. My mother brings in a tray of tea, and, seeing I'm awake, flashes me a halfhearted smile. She's trying so hard to be strong this time, because I'm not being strong for her.

I'm wading in the deep end.

"You're up," Cato whispers, fingering with my mockingjay pin.

I sit up, wipe my eyes, and snatch it from him. "That's mine, not yours," I say hoarsely, my voice weak since I was apparently sobbing in my nightmares of death, which I didn't even know were not just awful, awful images playing out from the recesses of my brain and not nightmares until I had woken up from them. "So don't touch it, Cato."

Gale grins at me behind Cato's back as Cato rolls his eyes, sarcastically saying, "_Well._"

"Are you tired, Katniss? Hungry?" I shake my head at my mother's question as she sits in front of Cato, obviously not approving of his being here, and looks at me, sadness and despair in her eyes. It fills me with the agonizing images of Prim where I can practically feel my body being ripped apart with hers, the fire trickling into my being until I'm one with it…

My mother seems to notice this, because she calmly assures me, "We still have all today, remember?"

I nod. It's all that I can possibly cling to.

She leaves the room, and then silence overlaps us. It's weird, having Gale and Cato in the same room.

Gale stands up and comes beside the bed, glaring at Cato. Cato looks up at him, not feeling threatened whatsoever. Gale forgets that he's a trained Career and not just the "pest" that likes me and won the Games with me.

At the mention of the Games, images float into my mind, trapping me again. A lot of them are of Prim, but some of them are of tributes, the fear I felt so strongly in the arena flooding into my system. My breathing shortens and shallows until I'm hyperventilating, clawing at the air to scratch away the pictures. Gale sits down beside me and takes hold of my arms, pressing them to my sides until I finally leave them there.

"Hush. Katniss, stop, slow your breaths, and calm down. _Stop_."

I look up at Gale's concerned face.

And overwhelmed by the death that finally took me over, I see _everyone's _death, whether they're dead or not. Gale. Cato's _real¸ _for-good, no reincarnation death. Haymitch. Mother. Darius. Madge. Mayor Undersee.

Everyone I've met in my lifetime, dead or alive, I see a death featuring them.

It seems like it's going on for hours, and I thrash and kick and Gale and Cato struggle to calm me, telling my mother when she comes in to bring Haymitch by because I keep screaming his name, as his death is the worst, so unexplainable and terrible. He dies repeatedly, and I kill him, and it's in the arena. As his cannon sounds, my heart stops and _I_ fall back, dead, too.

It's inevitable; Primrose Everdeen is dead and it drove me to insanity.

**_D2- 17- (Cato Allens)_**

I don't know how to respond to Katniss's meltdowns, so again, I stand along the sidelines and watch as her friend—Gale—keeps her from thrashing too much and hurting herself as he tells her to calm down sternly but softly, like coaxing prey to come close before delivering the deathblow. That's what I associate it with at least; I don't think that's how he picked it up.

"Can I do anything?" I ask as Katniss's mother runs out of the room in search of Katniss's old mentor.

Gale doesn't turn around. "You can get out, go back to Two, and never come back. We had her under control and there were no meltdowns about her sister until _you_ showed up. It's too much for her to remember at once," he explains coldly. I know he doesn't like me, and I could honestly care less. If he gets out of line, I can easily hurt him—and who'll believe a poor Twelve boy over a _rich_ victor boy?

"I can't. Not until after the Victory Tour," he says. Katniss is finally asleep, I can tell. Now Gale turns to me. "Not in the Capitol. Only sometimes will I _ever_ be able to get away, even if it is for the better."

He narrows his eyes suspiciously; obviously he doesn't believe me. But it's true—after I woke up from my coma, Snow's was the first non-hospital-worker face I saw. That I remember, at least. He told me that when we are both in the Capitol, I am to be Katniss's. When it's just me in the Capitol, I am to be any woman's. I'm supposed to be the next Finnick Odair, except made especially dramatic since I'll have my little "uncaring" Twelve girl thrown on me.

"You're lying…right?"

"No. Besides…" I take a shallow breath. This house is surely bugged, and there's no way I could get away with telling some random guy I just met that Katniss and my soon-to-be relationship is a stunt. My family's life is on the line for this. Everyone Katniss loves—their lives are on the line too. Though it's obvious she's already lost the main person they could hold over her head to the mines. "I love her. I'll never leave her."

The next thing I know after I say this, Gale is on top of my, fist falling down. I push him off of me, standing up and kicking him in the gut before returning to Katniss's bedside and soothingly asking her to wake up. I touch her arm and she jerks up. But from the hazy look in her eyes, she's still emerged deep into her dream. I slowly creep into her line of vision and smile softly, half wanting to just paint on a scowl and go home.

"Catnip." Gale stands next to me rigidly.

"You—_you._" The dreaming girl before us points to her friend. He nods. "_You_ killed Haymitch, you traitorous murderer!"

"No, Katniss, it's Gale." Gale shakes his head.

"Get away from me!"

I look on, sighing, and worrying that this is it—this is what my Katniss has become. Will they "dispose" of her because she's not victor material? After all, they still have me to show off to the Capitol. It's not like Annie Cresta's case because she was the _only_ victor of her Games, and "disposing" of her wouldn't be acceptable.

Then everything happens at once. Haymitch bursts in and tries to calm Katniss down, Gale pulls me out of the room, and the whole time I hear Katniss's mother running out of the door, saying, "It's Prim, it's Prim. Tell Katniss I'll be back!"

I _hate_ District Twelve…

**A/N: This _does not_ mean Prim's alive. In fact, that's highly illogical, and I'm probably just gonna have them find her body instead.**

**So, on that note, adios, peeps. Until next time, and trust me—the wait will be _much _shorter next time!**


	4. Chapter 4: Go Home

**A/N: WJJ HAS A LIFE. IT'S REALLY SCARY. SHE DOESN'T LIKE IT. IT GETS IN THE WAY OF WRITING TIME.**

**Anyway, here's a little teaser chapter to tide you over 'til I can update for real. So sorry! **

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

Haymitch leans over me and pins me down. His Seam gray eyes are sober and his dark hair somewhat combed, and though his breath just smells bad, not of liquor, his clothes hold onto the truth: Haymitch is a drunkard and the smell of beer is forever stained into those clothes as if it were a real stain. He tells me, in a soft, gentle tone, but in an unkind way, just like him, to calm down.

"Shut up, Katniss," he says.

"I am. I shut up two minutes ago," I get out, my commotion and craziness subsiding. But still, everyone—they're all dying, dying, falling, bleeding, being killed, exploded, tortured... It's hard to hold on, but if Prim's coming back, I have to stay strong. My mother did just run out saying that it's Prim, it's Prim, and so they must have found her. My little duck must be alive. She must be. Right?

"Go home, Haymitch," I say bitterly.

He shakes his head. "I think I ought to talk to your fellow victor," he says. I furrow my brow questioningly. He notices and continues. "He's got some things I'm supposed to tell him before he goes back to District Two."

**A/N: Yes. Cato is in a helluva lot o' trouble. **

**CatO's.**

**Get it? Like…Cheerios? CatO's? **

**No?**

**Yeah… I am the place where all bad jokes _live_.**

**Anyway, the _real_, awesomeness-filled, Katniss-crazy, Cato-hotty, Gale-ugh, Haymitch-epic, and Finnick-filled chapter is coming soon.**

**Oh, did I say the awesome, hottish, epical dude we all know, love, and cried for, the one we all _know_ should not be yellow-haired but light-brown-hair, and _definitely_ not Sam Claflin? Yes, that one. **

**And I will make him not-yellow-haired, and hotter and more Finnick-like than…the one dude. *shivers***

**(Sorry to all 'Sam Claflin for Finnick Fans'. Yeah… no.)**


	5. Chapter 5: Prim

_****_**A/N: And thus, this chapter was born.  
**

_**D12-**** 16- (Katniss Everdeen)**_

Chills creep through me as I walk through the small crowd of people. It's all miners who are awaiting their fate, since the mines are blown up. But still, they stare, and I walk right past them, my head down, my eyes glued to the ground, cursing out my peripheral vision for making me see those eyes who see right through me, who see my wrongs, who punish me for them silently. Maybe one of them knew Peeta…

No, I can't think like this. I am supposed to be a victor. I am supposed to be strong.

But I'm not. I really wish I could collapse into Gale's strong arms, but instead I life my head and continue to silently walk between him and my mother, their footsteps matching mine as we walk quickly over to the doctor from the Capitol as she tends to a broken girl, one they say could be Prim, but they needed three people who knew her well to look at her and make sure it was her. She can't exactly speak yet because of post-traumatic stress.

"If it's not her, are you going to…?" Gale trails off.

I glare up at him. "Don't mention that _ever_ again."

I believe a little bit of post-traumatic stress may've affected me, too.

He nods grimly and marches forward, as grim as I. I am trying successfully to not get my hopes up about this, because for this kid to be alive, she would have had to be in the back of the group—or the middle—and would have had to escape out of the mines and into the woods somehow. Prim was supposedly in the front of the group. Unless Rory was confused…

It's all too much to think of right now. Instead of pondering and giving me another migraine, I decide here and now that, before I even see the girl, it isn't Prim. It is not Primrose Everdeen.

But then again—could it be? Is my little duck alive?

No, she isn't. Her ducktail will always stick out as the fire came through unexpectedly, destroying her and turning her to ashes…

I can't think like that either.

I take Gale's hand, more for support than because I want to. If I don't get someone's hand to grasp onto, someone to catch me if I suddenly fall, I will fall, long and hard, to the ground, and if I fall now, I don't think I'll have the strength to get back up. Not without Prim; not without Rue, or Peeta, of Father. I have four people left in the world to hold dear. Actually, that's more than my usual three.

I have Gale. He is my best friend, my protector. He will always have my back, will always keep me safe. He could never and would never betray me, and we know everything about each other. He is my one constant in the world; the one I know won't drift to insanity and will hold me just as dearly as I hold him always.

I have Mother. She hasn't always been there for me. She is flakey and I am just now slowly getting over my grudge from when she left Prim and I to rot as she sat blankly, in her own world, replaying the explosion again and again. Though, now that I am pretty much doing just as she did, I respect her a little more despite my lingering bits of anger.

I have Cinna. He is my other confidant, someone I can tell anything to. He is going to be there for me at all times, and he is going to make me look memorable and, well, _pretty_ while doing so. He is a genius and he is so unlike any of the other Capitolites I have ever met, but in a good way. He is simple. He is caring. He understands. He's Cinna.

And then…I think I have Haymitch. He's my mentor. He kept me alive. And despite his drunkenness, and his annoyingness, he's smart. He knows things and keeps me informed and always has, even when he didn't tell the things he told me to Peeta. Though, I wouldn't consider him a close friend like I would for Gale or Cinna. "Mentor" is the perfect word.

We finally reach where the doctor is hanging over the girl. Mother clears her throat softly, and the white-coated doctor whips around with a huge smile, a weird spiderlike tattoo, and orange, sparkly eyes.

"Hello!" he exclaims in his Capitol accent, cheery as ever. "She's going to live, if you are, in fact, as good as an apothecary as these miners say, ma'am." He flashes Mother a grin and winks. "Is she your girl—Primrose? Pretty name."

"Yes. Yes, that is Prim," Mother says immediately. "That is Prim."

Though part of her hair is singed as though she was so close to a fire that her hair caught—I wouldn't be surprised if that happened—I can tell that it's blonde and can just see the hints of what used to her cute French braid, hanging down from the back of her head, replacing her two braids like the ones she wore at the reaping. Her eyes aren't open, and her skin is burnt in places. Her face is red and has slight burns. The only place I see a major, horrible burn is on her head, which isn't good. The rest range from minor-to-moderate burns that Mother can heal.

It's Prim. It's definitely Prim.

A smile lights up my dark face. I beam down at the lifeless-looking twelve-and-almost-thirteen-year-old girl as her eyelids flutter as though she is deep in a dream, or is in a light sleep and is fighting to stay asleep. If I were her, I'd fight to stay asleep to. Sleep is where it doesn't hurt.

"Yeah," Gale mutters. "Prim."

I nod absently.

Prim's eyes snap open so suddenly; the doctor jumps and then gives a hearty laugh. I question whether he has a true medical degree or not.

Prim opens her mouth like she's about to say something, but then just closes it. Her eyes lock on mine for a second, and I know all the words she was trying to say with her mouth: "I'm Prim. It's Prim. I'm alive."

"I know," I mouth back, and she nods. My heart skips a beat at the sight of her.

My mother looks like she wants to throw her arms around Prim, but, knowing she can't, she also looks like she wants to throw her arms around every person near in giddiness. I don't blame her. It's Prim! She's alive! This is all too good to be true.

My heart sinks at this thought, but only slightly. What if it _is_ too good to be true? What if the girl before me was telling me with her eyes, "It's not Prim. I'm not your sister. I'm sorry"? I write it off as paranoia and smile at Gale, who seems to have paranoid thoughts floating through his head too. I know he doesn't like to do anything involving emotion in public, but I _know_ he was worried about Prim too, and if he wasn't thinking overly suspiciously, he'd be at least faintly smiling, or he'd have squeezed my hand instead of letting go. Little Gale-like things.

"She's pretty bad," says the doctor. "But with—"

"I know," Mother says. "Please, let us take her home."

"She'll need a medic's att—"

"I'm an apothecary."

"This'll take more than an apothecary's works to—"

"Let her come home," Mother says sternly but softly.

"I'm afraid that—"

"_Let_," I say, interrupting before my mother can, "my sister come _home._"

The doctor looks at me a second, and then up at Gale, and then over at mother. But his eyes linger on me the longest as he narrows his eyes and sighs. Gale's rigidness tells me he's ready to pop and attack anyone at the slightest moment's notice, which I'm not sure is comforting or exasperating.

The doctor steps back and writes something down on a sticky note. He hands it to Mother, picks up his stuff, and walks off. Prim gets off the gurney tentatively, but Gale picks her up gently before she has time to collapse, walk, or do anything. She doesn't complain except to whimper slightly, and Gale shifts her so she's more comfortable. It's Prim.

Prim is home.

"He says here she can't speak," Mother says, and my heart quickens. "But it's just fear. It'll pass." I sigh, relieved, but I don't think I can wait until it passes. I need to know with absolute certainty that this is Prim. I need to hear the story of how she escaped unnoticed but so very harmed. Though, I do have my theories, but theories are not like knowing for sure.

But I don't know anything for sure anymore, do I? Except one: I have to go back soon. Back to the Capitol. Back to where hell erupted, where Cato pinned me to the wall, where Peeta confessed his undying—ironic, isn't it?—love for me on live television, where I was engulfed in flames, where I became the girl on fire and Cato didn't like it and Clove hated it.

Where they were all alive, not just Cato and I. Marvel, Clove, Glimmer, Cato, Foxface, Thresh, Rue, Peeta—everyone was alive. Twenty-two lives hadn't been taken yet. We all held a little bit of innocence that anyone who comes out of the Games loses the minute they step into the arena. Why? Because in the arena, it's inevitable. You're thinking of killing another person. And you need to. You want to.

You're going to.

But some people didn't. They died before they could—but they still thought about it. They thought long and hard and they imagined going home and breaking Prim's little heart and sending mother into silence and making Gale hunt for himself, all alone, until he could train Rory to hunt with him. That alternate universe seems empty. Prim really needs me back.

And there's nothing in my right mind that could make me take, well, myself away from her. But as it has been displayed in the reaping bowl, through Effie's lips, and up to all the events leading to now—Prim can't keep herself from being taken from me, and it's obvious that I need her too. I need her to keep me sane enough to try and hold the insane in. I've seen Rue die, and I've seen Cato die—twice—and it's my fault that Peeta died, and people have wanted me dead, and Prim has died, and twenty-two kids died because of Cato and I—it's hard not to start feeling worse and worse until I'm _insane_ when it comes down to that.

But he's a Career. So he doesn't feel it. Because Careers don't feel.

_**D2- 17- (Cato Allens)**_

"You're not my mentor, Haymitch." I don't know what to do - glare, stare, or scowl.

"Oh, but yes, I am, and Brutus is Katniss's as well as yours, just as I am hers and well as yours now," Haymitch tells me formally. "You both won the Games together. That calls for needing some advice from an extra person, don't you think?"

"What do you _want?_" I snap irritably, deciding to scowl at him.

Haymitch smiles, and his eyes skirt around the study. They fall on my victor's crown. He stands up for a moment, but then sits back down, muttering something like, "I smashed mine," or "I had a gash in mine," or "That is mine." He sits up straight again and scowls at me like I am to him, barely keeping in a smile. "You don't scare me, Cato. You don't make me feel anything except the urge to laugh," he spits, and I narrow my eyes.

"And why is that?"

"Because you're stupid! You're so stupid." Haymitch offers no more explanation and instead dives right in why he decided to welcome me in to the house I am staying in until I go back to my home in District Two and why he's even speaking to me at all. "Now, here's an example of your stupidity, but it's actually what I want to tell you. You're in trouble."

I shrug. "Like?"

"You were never supposed to let Katniss in the Careers," Haymitch tells me. "You were never supposed to love her. She was never supposed to love you. And, most of all, you were never supposed to die." Hamitch shrugs. "But all those things happened, didn't they? And now the blame's on you. _All _on you."

**A/N: It's short, it's sweet, and it's OOC, but hey! I've been totally worked until I die, so...yeah. Expect a much better, longer, Catonisser next chapter. **

**No, wait, that's a lie. Expect *gags* Galeniss next chapter. Lots and lots of *gags more* Galeniss.  
**


	6. Chapter 6: The Kiss

**A/N: So sorry for not updating! I had so little inspiration and NaNoWriMo… It was a hectic month. Anyway, I am back and here to stay, and I hope you like this! I know I sure didn't… *shudders* Galeniss…**

* * *

**_D12- 16- (Katniss Everdeen)_**

I slip in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of anything as tiredness and fatigue spread through me like a wildfire. Though I've slept a lot, I have gotten little rest since I first heard my mother utter the words, "The mines." I, however, do notice the eyes. They are all different than the one before, or the next one, and they're all near me when I wake up a little bit.

There are the stony, cold gray ones, filled with years of pain and loss, but they have a little bit of relief in them. They look at me, and they reflect joy, maybe just at the sight of me. Those eyes only come once, and I don't see them after they leave the first time. They are hopeless and stony and empty, but there are glimmers of feelings in there.

Then there are the sad blue ones. They are just sad, just blue. I see no joy, or rebelliousness, or anything spectacular in them, except for an abundance of love and slight worriment.

There is another set of gray eyes. They are all but scared. They are nervous. Rebellious. Caring. Loving. Warm. Hateful. Fiery. Welcoming. I recognize these eyes, the eyes I've stared into a lot before.

And then there are icy, dangerous, sharp blue eyes. They come with a pair of lips too, moving and forming words I don't quite understand. I try to reach out and grab the owner of these eyes when they are leaving, but I am too deep in sleep to move. I try to escape slumber and pull this person back, ask them what they've said, but they are gone.

This is when I awaken for real.

Cato is just about to exit through the door when I wake up and sit up a little too fast. He turns around, sees me. I force an obviously fake smile at him, and he just shakes his head a little bit and laughs. Maybe it's a chuckle, a chortle, or a guffaw. I only register that he is laughing as I yawn, stretch slightly, try to focus. My mind is here and there, searching for the eyes I never saw: the soft blue ones, the ones that I hope I will always be able to see.

"Hey," says Gale from the edge of the bed. I look away from the laughing Cato and to him. He doesn't look at me; instead, he glares at Cato. I watch them for a moment, but then Gale turns back to me. "You were out for at least twenty hours."

"I—"

"You were so tired," intones Cato as he composes himself. He shakes his head again, and a glint of giddiness lights up in his eyes. "You never fail to surprise me, Katniss Everdeen."

"What'd I do?"

"Oh, everything. Nothing. You…" He raises his eyebrows. "You volunteered."

"So?" I ask defensively, pursing my lips.

"Where would we all be, had you not done that? What if…if Prim wasn't reaped? If it was some other girl?" Cato looks deep into my eyes, and again I feel that sense of urgency that I did in my sleep to keep him here, grip him tight. "You'd be…What do you call it? You'd be in the Seam, and—who knows? Maybe it wouldn't be me going on Victory Tour. Maybe it'd be Marvel. Or Clove. Not Glimmer, though. That girl had no brains."

"Why does it have to be a Career?" I snap. "Why couldn't it have been Peeta? Or Rue? Or—or Thresh or Foxface? Or the girl who was reaped in Prim's place?"

"It could be! I just didn't know those people, Kat," Cato tells me.

"Don't call her that," Gale growls, and he stands up. "Leave. _Now._ Katniss wants no part of you in her life."

I stand up too. "I can speak for myself."

"She can speak for herself!" Cato repeats.

I look at him apologetically and shrug. "Go."

Cato looks around a little bit, and then he shrugs and turns away.

As soon as I am sure he is gone, out of the house, and heading to Two, I turn to Gale pleadingly. My voice low, I whisper, "Where is she?"

He moves towards me and puts his arm around me. I stare up into his gray eyes, he stares down into mine. We stare for a long time, and the hint of a smile plays on his face, the corners of his lips quirking up only slightly. I let out a small breath like a short, almost inaudible laugh, and he cocks his head slightly. "You scared me."

"How?" I ask innocently.

"When you…"

"Oh" is all I can manage. I was so vulnerable, and I hate it. The vulnerability still threatens to overwhelm me, and I hate it. I push it back easily now, but what about when I see recaps of my Games? What about when a tribute—or, most likely, two—of mine dies? What if there is a boy with ashy blonde hair and simple, kind, caring blue eyes, gorgeous like the sky? I wouldn't be able to take it. I see Peeta everywhere; watching him die again through someone else would be very painful.

How could I have been so ignorant? I so wish that I could have helped him. Saved him. But that would mean Cato would be dead. Do I want that? Would Peeta and I both have been able to live, like Cato and I did? Would all of this drama that has happened since the Games' ending have happened? Would I be sitting here, still staring mindlessly into Gale's eyes?

He leans closer, his neck bent so his faces is inches from mine, which is only a slight change, even though he is much taller than me. My chest clenches and my mind rattles; I seem to have stopped breathing, so I force out a breath. Panic like no other sets in. Is Gale—my best friend, my hunting partner, _not_ my boyfriend—about to kiss me?

I think so.

I don't know how I feel about that.

He leans in all the way, pressing his lips to mine. I'm not sure what to do—whether to kiss back or pull away—so I just hang limp to his arms wrapped around me and let him kiss me without really doing anything. I breathe in through my nose, and a whiff of Gale fills my nose: coal dust, pine, and just Gale's _smell. _Eventually he pulls away. Eyes wide, I look up at him in alarm and wait for him to say something, to say anything, because I know I can't, not without my voice cracking or just not coming out, and I am hanging by a thread as it is.

"I'm sorry, I had to," Gale says quietly. "I had to."

I've never kissed a boy before. Not Cato, not Peeta—now Gale. Gale Hawthorne, my best friend. More? Is he more than that now? By the tone of his voice, I can tell he definitely thinks we're not, but I don't know, and I am furious at him for flinging this at me when I have Prim, and the Victory Tour, and Cato, and now I have to think about this and what I want and what to do and what Gale wants…

"I, uh…"

He shakes his head. "Don't." Gale sighs. "Stop it. If you— If we… If you don't… Just, don't only please me. Do what you want to do, Catnip."

"I… Gale, I don't _know!_ How— What am I supposed to do?" I spit out, confused.

"What do you _mean?_" he snaps back.

"You know I am lost as it is, Gale. I don't know where to put this."

"Put it in your brain. Then tell me what you think."

"I thinkI don't know what to think," I admit.

"What do you want me to do - tell you what to think?" Gale asks me angrily.

I cross my arms. "Let me think, will you?"

I still don't know. There's a giant _THIS IS GALE_ sense, but also a _This is right _sense. I don't know which to give in to, which I want to give in to.

Actually, no. It is not right. It will never be right. We will always be best friends, and Gale and I are no more. As long as I am still a victor and Peeta still haunts me and every dead face haunts me, I will never, ever, ever be with Gale. It's not right. Not right. Not right. It pains me to come to the realization, but it's true. It's so, so true, and it's so, so awful.

But I kiss him back anyway.

* * *

_**D2- 17- (Cato Allens)**_

The train ride back to Two is long and agonizing. I haven't seen my family in so long, and I can't wait, but I also don't _want _to see them. I don't want to see the disappointed look on my mother's face as she scolds me for the longing in my eyes only she would recognize when I looked at Katniss. I don't want my father to scold me for my weakness. I don't want to walk in there and watch the rest of them see a dead man entering the room.

That's what I am supposed to be, isn't it? I am a walking dead man, and it's such an odd thing to know that I shy away from this thought and scoot out of the train. Everyone cheers. I push past the crowd after a few "Hello's" and a lot of handshaking. There are even a few who request my autograph. I smile and sign their arms, their shirts, notepads. This is the norm for Career victors.

Back at home, I have to knock on the door. It is _locked_.

My little sister Artemis opens the door. She stares at me, almost awestruck.

_I am a dead man, _I think. _That's what she sees her big brother as. _

She steps aside and utters, "Come in," as if it weren't my home, this Victors' Village house. I go in the house and make my way to the living room, where my younger brothers, Apollo and Ephraim are watching TV with my parents. My older brother Icarus is waiting for me, sitting on the old-fashioned chair by the edge of the door.

He smiles at my proudly. "Hello, Cato," he says formally, and shakes my hand. "Congratulations."

"What's up with the rest of them?" I wonder aloud.

Icarus shrugs. "Don't mind them."

"No, seriously, what did I do?" I ask persistently, and Icarus sighs, shrugging.

Apollo and Ephraim are looking over at me, almost scared, and so is Artemis, but Mother and Father are still looking at the TV, glued to it. Icarus lowers his voice and says, "Come on." He takes me past the living room and into a study-like room, shutting the door behind him. He shakes his head immediately. "It's stupid, really. Dad thinks you didn't…didn't really win. That it was 'that girl.'"

"I didn't," I almost mutter, but then I stop myself. Icarus is very persuasive. If he believes it was all me who won, maybe her can get the rest of my family to think that too, and then we can all go back to normal; only, everyone will be a little more proud than me, I will be a dead man, and Katniss will haunt me. I long for the surprises she throws at me, but at the same time, I'm glad to not be apart of the world of Katniss right now.

"That's stupid," I say, repeating my brother.

"It is," says Icarus, rolling his eyes.

We nod. It's a deal, though unsaid—Icarus will convince them, and I will mention him somehow in some district, one with plenty of coverage, lots of cameras. Enthusiasts. Dreamers. People who honestly love me. The Victory Tour will go to all districts since I need to go to Twelve and Katniss needs to go to Two, so I suppose it's either here or the Capitol that I'll work up my angle, thank my brother, Icarus Allens, and the rest of my…"ever so loving" family.

We leave the room and I say hello to my family.

Ephraim smiles. He's always admired me. It's a step in the right direction.

Apollo looks up.

Artemis looks at our parents questioningly.

My parents don't acknowledge my existence.

Anger bubbles up in me. I am a Career, no matter what, always. I enjoy the pain and the torture, even though I have a new respect for not killing people—slightly. If it weren't for the fact that I need to keep in good tabs with Katniss, I would still be pretty much the same old Career. I have a short fuse. I am easily angered, and everyone, anyone, everything, anything…it can _all_ make me furious.

"Icarus," I say gruffly, trying not to speak through gritted teeth. "Take the little kids outside."

He nods and they shuffle out of the house. Once I hear the front door close behind them, I step over to the television and showily shut it off, and then turn straightforwardly to face my parents, glaring at them like no one has ever glared—not even Clove or Katniss or Haymitch. Not even _Gale_, who has given me some pretty intense glares, and I think I know why.

"You guys," I spit huffily, "are ridiculous! Your son is home! He's a glorious victor! So what the hell are you doing—ignoring me and just…brainwashing my siblings to hate me? I came back for you. I went in for you. I brought pride to _you_. Be grateful or get the hell out."

"Oh, Cato," mutters my father. "This is exactly why you…you…"

"I fucking died, okay?" I snarl angrily.

"Yes. You…you had to perturb everyone. Your life wasn't complete unless you had an enemy, someone to spit at," he continues.

I think I might get it now. "Had to," "wasn't complete." He's talking about me in past tense, not present tense. Unless he thinks I've changed—which, honestly, isn't true; having someone to one-up and anger is reassuring, and the fact that right now my only possible choices are blood or are in an entirely different district perturbs _me_.

"I am not in the past," I snap.

"Oh, but, Cato," my mother says sympathetically, resting a hand on my shoulder, "you are no more than simply _un_dead. You were brought back from death, and it's a little hard to not think—"

"Natalia!" hisses my father.

She nods. She yanks her hand back. "It's a bit too unreal, dear."

"Son," Father starts uncomfortably. "I don't—you see—this is all a ploy. You aren't…you aren't the same young man I sent off. I think—I thought you'd be living in Twelve."

"I'm not. This is my house."

"We'll be going home. This was only a welcome-home party. I am sorry, Son. Forgive me if I have this all wrong. You did not win. You are a disgrace. Goodbye." He turns away and begins to walk out, but my mother's eyes linger for just a little longer, and then she leaves. Minutes later, Ephraim and Icarus are standing before me. Artemis and Apollo, twins, are only eight, so Mother and Father control them, but Ephraim is fifteen and does what he wants, and Icarus lives with his wife at age twenty-four; he is on his own.

I turn eighteen next month. Once I am eighteen, I know, I am free and willing to never speak to my parents ever again.

"Dude," Ephraim says, shaking his head. "That's…wow. I completely eavesdropped, and you know, their reasoning is stupid, and the way you just slapped that right in their face was epic. And you know, that girl was not just the reason you won. But she was pretty, uh—"

"Yeah, don't finish that," I tell him uneasily, for we may have to play the angle of lovers—who knows? maybe we'll even _become_ lovers—and so I want to make sure they are not surprised or uncomfortable if they ever see me with Katniss in my arms, or my lips glued to hers, or me down on one knee, live, before her, without even knowing I like her. So subtle hints is nice. It's good, for now, that acting is of utmost importance to pre-Games trainers. Later on, my acting might get a bit too good. If I truly don't end up liking Katniss, I don't want to be stuck with her forever.

"Got it." Ephraim nods and smiles immaturely, wiggling his eyebrows. "So, what's with her? Seems like just a poor, starving girl who got lucky."

"She's not," I hiss instinctively, because she is _not_ just that. I appreciate her, and I respect her, and I know her, and she is not just a lucky weakling. She is strong and brave and generally smart.

"Oh-oh-oh," says Apollo, whistling.

I roll my eyes. "No more, Apollo. Not about Katniss."

"Katniss Allens," he says, smirking. "Sounds nice, doesn't it, Icarus?"

"I'm not getting into this," Icarus tells Apollo. "Pick on him all you like. I'm out."

"Later, then," says Apollo.

"I'm leaving in two days for the Tour, don't forget, Icarus," I inform, and Icarus nods and heads out into the wintry scene.

Apollo shrugs and leaves also. And here I am, with a family that hates me, and the only friend who will sit and talk with me because I am me and not a victor in Twelve. It's pathetic, especially for a District Two Career victor.

But still, I won.

**A/N: And Cato's family reveals themselves at last! **


	7. Chapter 7: Eleven

_So, uh…_

_Heh._

_Readers!_

_How are you? How's life been?_

_If you haven't left me or if you haven't grown old and died in the time it's taken me to update…heh-heh… Well, now is the time to throw the tomatoes at me and boo me off the stage. If you're still out there, then… I'm sorry! _

_I've been a very, very selfish author. And here's why: I put this story on hiatus because, and for this reason only (not because I didn't have plans, not because it wasn't fun to write)—wait for it—I **only **got EIGHT reviews on my last chapter, The Kiss. And in all fairness, it was a crappy chapter. I didn't bother to fix the fact that most of it was in bold; it wasn't written really well, it was rushed… Crappy chapter. I only _deserved _eight reviews. But when you look back to the nearly twenty reviews on some of the chapters I've written, I guess eight is a tiny number. But now I'm lucky to get five reviews on my main story, I Will Rise, so looking back on the reason why I put this story on hiatus, where I got tons and tons of feedback… I feel like the freaking biggest idiot in the entire history of literature. …Okay, not the biggest, but I don't want to step on anybody's fandoms ;-) _

_So! Aspiring writers, here's a lesson to learn: Don't be as greedy as Wjj. _

_I seriously doubt I get **one** review on this. Prove me wrong, Catoniss fans!_

* * *

_**KATNISS**** EVERDEEN**_

The Victory Tour approaches with a too much speed. I get a banquet here and an opportunity to feed the hungry of my district there, things that distract me from the coming confrontations with so many people I don't want to confront—specifically Cato, who's seen me break down and who's seen me be far more irrational that I should ever be, especially around the practical stranger he is—but it doesn't stop time. Time still whips by me far too fast, disturbingly reminding me of Clove's knives, which brings shudders and memories and nightmares that leave me thrashing in bed at night and screaming until Prim comes and tells me that it's okay, she's there, I'm not in the arena anymore.

When it does come, I find my heart rushing and my mind whirring so quickly that I can't keep up with it, and I feel a lot like mush. Cato will be waiting for me to arrive in the district that shares a small bit of bordering with his own district. It's the third-most feared district for me to be touring in, especially as Cato's…date. But then, it will be better than other districts. They'll like me, I hope. Or they'll hate me.

Rue. Thresh. Rue. Thresh.

District Eleven.

* * *

There he is. Tall, muscular, and looking as deadly as ever upon first sight, even though I've seen a calmer side to him now. He's terrifying. I'm supposed to love him. I'm supposed to be barely containing myself in front of him, as Haymitch told me on a short little walk away from the train while we were at a stop. Haymitch. He reminds me of Peeta. He mentored Peeta. Effie reminds me of Peeta. Cinna reminds me of Portia. Portia reminds me of Peeta.

Thresh. Rue. Peeta.

I know everyone I killed. Know them by their faces, not their names or their districts. If I saw their parents, the characteristics their children held plastered all over them, I won't see a sad, angry mother and father. I'll see the dying people I killed.

I'll see Rue. I blame myself for her death. She fell from the tree; fell so hard, because I told her to. Because she took a leap she couldn't wait due to my orders of her going to the river. Useless orders. They were to protect her from Clove, and Clove fled before Rue was anywhere near the river.

Cato. _That's who's in front of you, Katniss, _some vague voice in the back of my mind tells me. Not Rue. I shouldn't be thinking of Rue. But we're in District Eleven, and the pain of the little girl's death is still so fresh that it's suffocating. Rue. Little, tiny, not helpless but close to it Rue. The Rue who I'd do anything to bring back. The Rue that Thresh came running for. The Rue that Foxface tried to kill. Rue. Prim-like Rue.

Prim.

Dead in the mines.

_No, she's not dead._

Mind muddled.

Nightmares resurfacing.

Can hardly think.

"Katniss," Cato greets and I realize I'm in front of him but my mind doesn't totally believe that I'm not still in the arena or I'm not still waiting in front of the mines for my father or Prim. My father. Truly dead in the mines.

Cato.

Here.

_Think._

"Katniss?" Cato repeats. I blink and try to pull myself together. _Think. Think. Cato here. Prim alive. No arena. Good._ "Are you okay?"

I blink again. "Cato," I say, and briskly walk past him. He steps to be beside me, dressed to impress poor, poverty-filled District Eleven, touches of makeup eliminating anything that's not remotely perfect about Cato's already pretty perfect face. I'm dressed in a blue dress that compliments me well, with makeup touching my face, most of it blue, and my hair done up like it was for the reaping and so many occasions since then.

"Katniss," Cato repeats _again._

"That _is_ my name," I reply snappily.

I don't want to talk. I just want to get this over with.

It goes by so quickly. We eat. Since Cato and I were Rue's allies, we're both expected to say more of her. Of course, I doubt they really think Cato will say anything too special seeing as a Career victor, and I honestly think that will be the case too. I've forgotten that he's changed slightly. Not enough to count. Not enough to make me feel like I did towards him in the arena, with my mind changing into something that wasn't my own, but just slightly.

Cato's speech that's required of him, prewritten by someone else, is spoken quickly though he somehow manages to add arrogance and smoothness, like he owns the entire room, the district, the world, to it. It's not like the way Peeta spoke, where you hung onto every word and didn't let go because it was all so perfect, and his voice was flawlessly convincing, like his opinion was the only good one and that was that.

Peeta. A pain rises in me. Peeta. Peeta Mellark. My boy with the bread.

He speaks about how he has a little sister in District Two, Artemis. He says they aren't a lot alike, but he saw some similarities between the two girls, some things that Rue did that he spoke of screaming Artemis because he'd seen her do these little, almost unnoticeable, unless you deal with them daily, quirks that he'd been seeing for all eleven years of Artemis's life. He said that she was a really nice little girl and that he was saddened to see her go.

Then it's my turn. I tried to write something for this. I tried to prepare. But the words wouldn't be written. Spontaneity is what works for me; I can't write speeches ahead of time all by myself. And when someone writes them for me, it would probably sound forced, fake. I would feel terrible if I didn't say anything more about Rue. Maybe Thresh, too.

"I want to give thanks to the tributes of District Eleven," I begin after my required speech is done and over and gone for good. "To both of them, Thresh and Rue. I didn't really know Thresh, but I always respected him." It's true. I hadn't really thought of just how much I respected him before the words tumbled out of my mouth. Spontaneous thoughts coming to words work for me again.

I still don't really know where I'm going with this, though. Should I talk about Rue now? Or should I say more about Thresh? About how I respected him?

"I respected him for his power," I say because it's been maybe a second too long since I've said anything and the words feel right coming out. They feel truthful. "For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own," I add quickly. He was Thresh. He wasn't the Careers', or the Capitol's for that matter. I was both the Careers' and the Capitol's. I was thoroughly used. Thoroughly hurt.

"The Careers wanted him to team up with him from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it," I blurt out. The words _I respected him for that_ are supposed to come next—that's what my brain tells me. But I can't say that. _I_ joined the Careers. What would that make me? "I… I respected him for that, too. Even though I joined the Careers briefly myself." I look to Cato for a second. Not purposefully; my eyes just flit over there. But as soon as I do this, I know I've done something perfect for once. One forbidden lover stealing a glance at the other.

Now Rue.

Oh, God, Rue.

I look around, building a short pause up that I'm not sure feels right or not. All eyes are on me. A pair of tiny little eyes connects with mine. Those eyes can only belong to Rue or one of her family members. It has to be Rue's little sister that stares at me now. Her brown little eyes jab holes in my heart and mind, pressing me to say something. Needing me to bring a bit of closure through words. Rue. Rue's death affects so many.

"But I feel as if I did know Rue," I tell the crowd of people gathered, "and she'll always be with me." It's true. The name stings me as it leaves my mouth and is said aloud. It hurt when Cato said it, but now that I have to talk about her and relate the crowd to how I felt about her, a pain washes through me, and like the pain I felt for Peeta, except that pain was more intense. All the reds in it were redder. All the blues bluer. The grays grayer.

"Everything beautiful brings her to mind," I continue slowly, careful about my words. I've probably said enough that might be considered rebellious when talking about Thresh. "I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees." Now for the hardest part. But though it's hard, the words flow anyway. "But, most of all, I see her in my sister Prim.

"Thank you for your children. Thank you all very much for Rue and Thresh."

Then it's over.

Done. Finally.

But it's not, I realize quickly. An old man in the crowd whistles Rue's four-note tune that signals the end of the day—or it used to—and touches three fingers to his lips. He raises them. The District Twelve gesture of respect. Love. Acceptance. More people join in the finger-raising. I feel the strong urge to let tears fall from my eyes. It's all for Rue and Thresh and me. But more for Rue and Thresh than anyone.

We're ushered quickly to a train. And as the doors are closing, I almost think I hear a gunshot.

But I'm sure I'm just imagining it.


	8. Chapter 8: The Fight

_Just some Katniss/Cato interaction. I actually finished this the day after I posted the chapter Eleven, but I waited until I got a couple reviews to post it_...

* * *

**_CATO ALLENS_**

I find that I can't sleep tonight. I can't sleep on time, at least, and I don't know why. I have to get up early in the morning. Tomorrow I go to the district with Glimmer and Marvel, which won't be as bad as talking about Clove. I liked her. I respected her. I didn't like her as much as I like Katniss, but I liked her in the same way that I like Katniss. Glimmer and Marvel—they were annoying. My obsequious followers to do the dirty work that I didn't care to do. They were under me. They were nothing. They weren't like Katniss and nothing reminds me of them like Artemis reminds me of Rue. It's only lucky that I had that to work with and talk about when it came to her.

The Capitol will love me for that. The deadly victor being kind and soft for the sweet little girl.

I go to the train's kitchen. Avoxes are there, but I don't worry about them seeing me or anything. They're just Avoxes. Just servants. They're no more than scenery that will get you a cup of hot chocolate if you want it. They're just there, like the mountains in District Two or the ocean bordering several districts. I do ask a nearby Avox for a cup of hot chocolate. She obliges immediately, obviously not saying a thing.

I hear footsteps enter the car, and look over. It's not an Avox. It's Katniss.

"Hey," I greet her. She sits down. She doesn't seem out of it, like she seemed yesterday when we first saw each other, as though she was having a nightmare but wasn't asleep for it. She looks over at me, says nothing, and looks down. Frowns. I wonder what she's thinking about. I wonder if she's thinking about the Games. I think about the Games a lot. I think about my death. I think about just how glad I am that I was popular enough to be resuscitated. And I think about how Katniss helped me with the wound afflicted by Clove.

"You're a miracle," she says quietly, as if she's read my mind.

An Avox comes with my hot chocolate.

I process these words a second and nod slowly. "I guess I am," I agree tentatively, not quite sure that that is the word I'd use. I'm popular. I'm wanted. I'm needed. I'm a victor. A miracle? Perhaps I am a bit of one, seeing as I'm supposed to be dead. I died. But not quite. I was revived. Somehow. Someway. I don't care to think of the "how" and "why" and the "what" of that. I'm alive. What else matters?

She smiles slightly. Katniss is very, very pretty, especially when she throws out her rare but beautiful smile that will light up a dark room. "I never got to tell you how much I wanted to kill you when you died," she says, still in the quiet, soft, somewhat distant voice. Poor Katniss is all I think when I see her like this. Poor, pretty Katniss Everdeen.

"Oh, did you cry over me?" I ask, grinning at her smugly even though I'm certain that she didn't cry over me. Katniss is tough. I can tell with once glance at her that it takes a lot for her to cry, though she did so when Rue died. But I guess Rue was a lot like her sister, who I've met and I agree with her that Rue and Prim have a lot of similarities. But Rue wasn't scared of me, not when Katniss was around. Prim seemed scared when I came.

"Of course not," she retorts, rolling her eyes and elbowing me slightly. I stir the marshmallows into the warm, brown liquid in my cup and take a sip of the chocolaty drink. "Why would I?"

"Because you've seen me shirtless," I say, and the smug grin turns into a smugger smirk.

She raises an eyebrow. I can see her doing that out of the corner of my eye. Dark eyebrows. Gray, misty, fiery Katniss eyes underneath the dark eyebrows. "What does that have to do with anything?" she asks, and I chuckle, to which she only looks at me more questioningly. She waits expectantly while I take another long sip from the hot chocolate. It burns my tongue a little but it tastes good.

"Well, anyone who has ever seen me shirtless is instantly madly in love with me. And face it. You're just dying for me to rip my shirt off right now," I say, and steal a short glance at her. Eyebrows raised, she seems skeptical in a playful way, since she knows we're just bantering teasingly like we did in the arena. "You must be dying for me to get another random stab to the chest or something."

"Yup," she agrees, nodding, not pausing a second after I stopped talking to say this. "But only if I'm the one who gets to stab you."

I roll my eyes. "Ha-ha, girl on fire. Clever one."

She grins a little, her small, rare smile a little more confident than it normally is, giving it the edge of a grin. It's completely _Katniss._ The feelings I felt towards her in the arena are coming again. Not as strong as love but close. And I remember, just then: Gale. Her best friend. I wonder if I stand a chance with him. I'm stronger. I'm handsomer. I'm entirely _better._ But Katniss doesn't seem to think that way.

She folds her hands in her lap and watches me for a second while I quickly finish off the small cup of hot chocolate. I turn to her. "So, what're you up this late for?" I ask as I stand up from my chair. She stands up too.

"Same reason as you, probably," she tells me. "I can't sleep. Where all are we going tomorrow?" Katniss yawns.

"One, Four, and Three," I answer her. We walk through the train to the room where the comfortable couches are and where the television is: a sitting room of sorts, I guess. The train closely resembles the trains we all took to go to the Capitol for the Games after the reapings. It took no time at all. The reaping was at nine o'clock and we were there long before lunch, since District Two is so close to the Capitol.

"Ah," Katniss says, yawning again.

"You seem tired. Why don't you try to go to sleep again?"

"Because I can't," she snaps, but seems like she didn't mean to snap immediately after.

I set aside the snapping. She didn't mean to. "Why not?" I persist, not getting it.

She looks up at me. We're sitting across from each other. Her fiery gray eyes reach my blue ones and she says coldly, "You're never going to get it." I would understand that it was just an outer district thing if it weren't for the tone she used, like I was too stupid to even try to understand, like stupid was typical Cato and she should never expect anything more from me.

"Oh?" I retort, and furrow my brow.

"Give it up, Cato." She stands up like she's going to leave and turns slightly towards the door. But she stops and stays in the room anyway, narrowing her eyes with great slightness. "You don't care. You never cared. It's not about the sponsors anymore, Cato. It's about life. Mine, my sister's, my mother's, Gale's." She turns again, beginning to leave. "We're not allies anymore."

I stand up and put a strong hand on her shoulder, turning her around and not trying to keep the roughness away from this. "Yeah, well, Katniss, it is about the sponsors. It's all about what the Capitol can give you," I say. It's the first thing that comes to mind, but it doesn't sting her because it's not a stinging remark. The fact that she thinks I only care about her on the screen to get love from the Capitolites—that stings, when I'm so close to maybe loving her.

Not right now. I don't love her now.

Before I can add to it, before I can say anything about what she really thinks about me, she shoves me away from her, looking appalled. "I'm just for fun, then, right?" she spits angrily. Tempers rising quickly, we claw at each other over something stupid. But neither of us cares, though I see the idiocy of the fight. Both of us desperately need the final word. "I'm just Cato's girl, Cato's, Cato's, not mine? Just to get people to like you?"

"Maybe you are!" I growl back, and don't move at all when she shoves me. "You're not worth anything more than that anyway!"

The fire in her eyes grows immediately. She glares at me, snaps something under her breath that I can't hear, and storms off. I feel satisfied that I told her off well enough that she walked away without even trying to get the last word. The door opens for her and she leaves the room. I sit back and yawn for a moment, the fight not affecting me yet.

And then it hits me that I'm a big idiot. But she's an idiot too. We're both short-tempered and irrational when we get angry. We'll say anything, whether we mean it or not, to be the superior one, to win the word battle that we rage through when we fight against anyone. Thrown together, knitted closely together as a couple, we're bound to fight, I guess. And no matter how silly I think it is now that we were fighting because she said something out of justified crankiness, I'll fight back again next time until she burns me too hard or I burn her too hard again.

But she's still pretty. Even when she's angry.

I'm too tired for the fight. I still admire her, but I'm also furious at her, and myself. Tired, tired, tired. And maybe a bit hungry.

* * *

**_KATNISS EVERDEEN_**

"You seem tired. Why don't you try to go to sleep again?" he asks me, an innocent question. He doesn't know what it's like to not be a Career. He doesn't know how much of a monster he is.

"Because I can't," I snap. I didn't mean to snap, even though anger towards him rises in me rapidly.

"Why not?" he asks. Not getting it. Never getting it.

I look up at him. My plain gray eyes meet his icy blue ones. "You're never going to get it."

"Oh?" He frowns a little bit.

"Give it up, Cato," I hiss at him. He doesn't care. He's never cared. He's too arrogant to consider caring for real. I stand up and prepared to leave, but stop. I narrow my eyes. "You don't care. You never cared. It's not about the sponsors anymore, Cato. It's about life. Mine, my sister's, my mother's, Gale's." I start to leave. "We're not allies anymore."

He stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder, turning me around roughly. "Yeah, well, Katniss, it is about the sponsors. It's all about what the Capitol can give you," he spits.

I shove him away from me immediately. The _monster._ The sick, cruel, stupid bastard who wouldn't hesitate to kill me if we were to go back into the Games together. He doesn't move from my shove.

Appalled, I bark, "I'm just for fun, then, right? I'm just Cato's girl, Cato's, Cato's, not mine? Just to get people to like you?"

"Maybe you are! You're not worth anything more than that anyway!"

I glare at him with fury in my eyes. I hate Cato Allens. I hate him so, _so_ much.

I mutter a few special words, making sure he can't hear them, and storm away.

Hate him. So, so, so much.


End file.
